Poem 7

Its seven days in and emotions
are rounding numbers evenly
oddly
people avoid the passion
rippling up the arm
resting in armpit
to write everyday is a first world problem
we rest
against the coolers in cornerstones
one
travel state lines
to return home
never stop moving forward
Keep Going!

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About monalisasrandomthoughts

I craft people poems. I laugh out-loud. I love all things. Everything is about order. My movements are chess. Everything to me calculates. I just look like this.
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